


Family Unit

by Bookwitch



Category: Airwolf
Genre: Drama, Gen, Original Character(s), Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwitch/pseuds/Bookwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo gets a call in the middle of the night that leads the team deep into trouble. Will they know who they can trust in the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call Me When You're Sober

Jo slapped the alarm clock violently before she realized that it was the phone, not the alarm clock, that was piercing her hard-earned sleep. Struggling to see the time, she cursed as her eyes focused on the red glowing numbers. 3:12 Am. Christ. What in hell? Angrily she grabbed the phone.  
"This had better be good," she growled in greeting. Her threat was met with silence, and for some reason that angered more than frightened her. 3Am was not a time that suited her to have someone pulling horror movie tactics.  
"Look, you've got about 10 seconds before..."  
"J...Jo..."  
The reply was barely audible, but the pleading and desperation came through loud and clear. A surge of adrenaline jolted her completely awake and she bolted upright in bed.  
"Mike? What's wrong? Are you OK?"  
She silently cursed herself for the stupid question. He'd only said one word so far, but judging from the effort that one word seemed to take, he was definitely NOT OK. She heard what had to be a groan, then labored breathing. That, in context with how weak and strained his voice sounded, was alarming her.  
"Mike, say something. I'm still here."  
The hesitation that followed was all the cue her body needed to remember to move. She put him on speakerphone while she ran around the room getting dressed, though she was still so afraid she might miss some contextual clue that she carried the phone with her and set it on top of the dresser as she pulled out her jeans and a tank. The silence was worrisome, but when a coughing spasm echoed through the phone her alarm rose and she realized there were worse things than silence. He was clearly very sick or badly injured, most likely the latter considering the type of work they did. She hurriedly pulled the tank over her head and tried to talk to him again.  
"What's going on, Rivers? Talk to me."  
"I need...Jo...need...need help."  
"OK," she said, forcing a calm she didn't feel into her voice. "It's going to be OK, Mike. I'm going to help you. Where are you?"  
"...hurts...hurts like...like hell. I couldn't...I tried..."  
"Shhhhh, I know it hurts, baby." she soothed, too frightened at this point to even realize what she had just called him, "I know you're in pain. I'm going to help you and we'll take care of that. But I need to know where you are so I can get to you. Tell me where you are."  
He could get mad at her later for talking to him like he was 2 years old. Right now, she needed information from him, information she was afraid he was in no shape to give. Where could be be? she wondered. None of them had been deployed for anything recently. The last couple of weeks had been quiet, spent doing nothing but maintenance on the Santini fleet and doing charters for Santini Air. And really, unless he'd done a charter she didn't know about and had hit on some bruiser's wife, none of that had been dangerous. They had certainly made a lot of enemies in their work for the government, but few people knew who "they" were. Why would someone...no. She forced herself to stop the useless speculating. Panic wouldn't help either of them.  
"Mike?"  
No answer, not even the sound of his labored breathing. OK, maybe she would take the coughing spasms over the silence. At least if he was coughing she knew he was alive. In bad shape, yes. But alive.  
"Come on, flyboy. ANSWER ME, damn it."  
Calling him flyboy would normally rile him enough to return a verbal volley or two, so the silence that followed was more telling than any of the conversation had been thus far. Damn it, where were her shoes? She needed to go. But go where?  
"Mike," she urged again.  
This time she was answered by another choking spasm and what might have been a surpressed sob. God help her, if he'd just gotten drunk and had gotten in to a bar fight, he was going to need medical attention by the time she got hold of him. Mike had never been a heavy drinker, though, she reminded herself, at least not in the time that she had known him. He didn't like being out of control. so drunkenness was unlikely.  
Stop it, Jo, she chided herself. More useless speculating. She took a deep breath and tried again.  
"Mike, honey, I need you to tell me where you are. I can't help you if I don't know where you are."  
"I, uhm...I think..."  
Great. He sounded confused. Head injury? Shock? She once again forced herself to stop thinking and just do. She put down the phone again, making sure to hit the speakerphone button, while she slid her arms through her shoulder holster. She fastened it, checked her weapon to make sure it was loaded and the safety was on, then slid her jacket on over that. She grabbed a couple of extra clips and shoved them into her jacket pockets, She still listened for anything that might help her, but all she heard was Mike. He was still rambling in his speech and wasn't making sense, but she tried again to get a location out of him.  
"Take a deep breath, Mike. I need you to focus. I need to know where you are."  
"I couldn't...I couldn't..." he began, but was unable to finish his sentence. His voice was sounding more and more strained, more distant. He was losing consciousness.  
"Come on, Rivers, FOCUS," she said sharply, hoping to jar him a little and help him stay conscious a little longer. "I need you to FOCUS."  
"...couldn't..." he repeated, as if she hadn't spoken. "but he's safe."  
"WHO is safe? Is someone with you? Mike, where in hell are you? What's around you? Can you see anything?"  
The response came in the form of what sounded like the phone dropping.  
"Mike!" she yelled. "Mike!"  
There was no response. He must have passed out, or...no, not going down that road. Her first instinct was to hang up and head out to the Valley of the Gods. If Mike was wearing his Company-issued watch, Airwolf could pick up on its tracer signal. Her only worry about that course of action was, if he was as bad as he sounded, just getting to the Wolf could take time they just didn't have. Just before she ended the call and ran out the door blind, she had an idea. It was a longshot, but at least she could definitely eliminate at least one place.  
Keeping her home phone connected with whatever line Mike was calling from, she picked up her cell phone and dialed his home number.'  
"Hi, this is Mike. I'm on the phone with someone else right now, but you know what to do. Leave a message and I'll call back."  
Great. His busy message. She stared dumbfounded at the two phones.  
"You're HOME? You're home and you couldn't tell me?"  
Immediately she regretted her chiding, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. He was obviously in pain, so maybe the pain was so bad he didn't KNOW where he was. But Christ, what kind of injuries...?  
That thought alone spurred her on. She felt her jacket pockets to make sure she'd put the extra clips there, then ran out the door, keys in hand. She was already dialing another phone number as she hurried to her car, and was already tearing out of the parking lot when a very groggy St. John Hawke picked up the phone.  
"Sinjin! Wake up. Wake up NOW." Urgency had already bypassed the need for civility.  
"Jo? Do you know what ti..."  
"YES, I do. I need you to meet me at Mike's."  
"What's..."  
"He's in TROUBLE, Sinjin. Just meet me there. Now."  
Frustrated, she hit the end key on her phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. Mike's house was 10 minutes from hers, but at the rate she was driving she was going to get there in five. She had driving skills like her flying skills, but then the same person who taught her to fly had taught her to drive. Still, with the recent rains dampening the streets, she was glad it was too early for there to be much traffic.  
"Please be there, Mike," she heard herself say as she ran a red light.


	2. Just Get There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo calls St. John Hawke, knowing this could get ugly.

St. John stared briefly at the phone before he started to move. His cousin Jo could be a mother hen, but she wasn't an alarmist. Still, it COULDN'T be that bad. Could it?  
Regardless, he had one main rule in life that he followed. When family or friends needed him, he was there. With that in mind, he grabbed his gun, his phone, and his keys before rushing out the door.  
He tried dialing Mike's home number as he tore down the wet streets in his jeep, but the calls kept going straight to voicemail. He tried calling Mike's cell, too, but there was no answer. Finally, he just gave up and drove. He only lived 15 minutes away, but right now, not knowing what was going on, 15 minutes felt like too damned long. Funny that it felt that way, he thought. Mike had been the one to insist that St. John get a place close to his own when the freed POW had been up to living on his own. It wasn't that Mike wanted to babysit him, he realized, and it did feel good knowing that he had a friend close by just in case. Now Mike was the one who needed him, and the short distance might as well have been hundreds of miles away. It was some comfort knowing that Jo lived closer, in Dom's old place, and was already on the way. She would get there first.  
Dom. Thought of the man who had raised him gave him a mental wince, causing him to hit the gas and run the red light he'd just driven up on. He was just getting his life back, getting his family back. He was NOT going to lose it again.  
"Just hang on, Mike," he said aloud.  
Thoughts of the Scotland mission from two months ago invaded his mind.He remembered how he'd felt when he thought Mike was dead, and he wasn't about to go through that again. It had been all he could do to swallow his emotions enough to fly them home. He only vaguely remembered requesting systems analysis from Jason...something that was not only necessary from a flight standpoint, but also kept the conversation down to the merely necessary. He knew he would fall apart if he had to listen to a pep talk from Jason about how Mike's death wasn't his fault. Keep it to business, keep it to the safety checks. Then, when Airwolf's sensitive computers had picked up THREE life signs, not two, he'd been afraid to hope. When the O2 blood saturation numbers had started climbing as Jason administered oxygen, he began allowing hope to seep back in. He had pushed the Lady HARD to get Mike to the nearest ally hospital. Mike needed medical attention as soon as possible, and that had been a success. They had saved Mike. St. John would be DAMNED if he was going through that again.  
"Just hang on," he repeated, pulling himself out of the past just as he nearly sideswiped a delivery truck. The driver shouted obscenities at him, but he hadn't hit anything so he kept going. He had to get to Mike.  
When he finally pulled up in front of the house, Jo was at the entrance, gun drawn. He must have broken the sound barrier to get there just after her, but whatever. He drew his weapon as he exited the jeep and approached.  
"Any sounds from inside?"  
The pretty blonde shook her head.  
"No. I was about to go in when I saw you pull up. You drive like your brother."  
"That, my dear, is debatable. Want to go in and see if I fight like my brother?"  
"I already know you do," she answered, grinning at him. "Still, hopefully it will be just Mike in there and there will be no need for fighting."  
He couldn't argue with that one. He was about to go in when Jo pushed her way in first. He cursed under his breath and followed her in, and they sidestepped down the hall back to back. The large living room just to the left of the entryway had been wrecked, but was clear. The same was true of the kitchen on the other side of the hall. They made their way from room to room, and in every instance it was the same. Hall bathroom, clear. The hall closet door was off its hinges and had been tossed, but was clear. The den, or what Mike referred to as, "Living room, part 2", was trashed like the rest of the house, but no one was there. What the hell was this, St. John wondered, a robbery gone bad? And did they KNOW who they were messing with?  
The spare bedroom was also a bust. And busted, unfortunately.  
"What in hell went on in here?" Jo whispered. St. John ha no answer.  
The only room left was the major's own bedroom. The door was open, and they could see that the bedclothes had been ripped and tossed, the mattress tossed aside and the box springs ripped open. Then a bloody footprint caught Jo's eye and she looked over to her left to see the object of their search huddled against the remains of a splintered desk against the wall.  
"Mike!" she yelled, running into the room and reaching him before St. John even set foot in the room. He started at her approach, and when she realized she had startled him she pulled back and toned her voice down.  
"Mike," she said gently, reaching out a hand but then unsure if she should touch him yet. "Mike, it's Jo. You're going to be OK."  
"Just hang on, buddy. We're going to help you." St. John offered as he squatted down beside Jo.  
"They didn't...they didn't find it," Mike said weakly. "But they know...know where I live. They might...they might search...so we need to..."  
"Shhh. You're already home. All you need to do is rest and let us take care of you." Jo said. He winced as she tilted up his head, and she winced in empathy. Even with limited light coming from the street lamp outside, he looked like hell.  
"H-home?"  
"Yes. You called me. I think you passed out before you could tell me where you were, so I'm sorry it took us a while to get here." She nodded to St. John as he stood up. "Look, we're going to have to move you to get a good look at you, see how badly you're hurt. she continued as St. John slipped on the light. Mike closed his eyes against the sudden brightness. Well, one eye, anyway. The left eye was already swollen shut.  
"Telling you what....what doesn't...doesn't hurt would be quicker." he quipped, chuckling painfully. His laugh turned into a kind of cough, and Jo looked pleadingly at St. John. This was going to be a job for a comrade. She was close to him, but St. John and Mike had a bond that was undeniable. If anyone could get him to hang on....  
Thankfully he took the clue and knelt back down beside them.  
"Let me do the moving, Rivers," he was saying. "Don't help. Just relax and trust me."  
"Relax. Right." the badly beaten pilot said incredulously.  
St. John smirked at him. "OK, point taken. Just don't try to help me. I can handle your weight, and I want to move you as little as possible while we figure out what's going on. Try to rest and let me do the work."  
With that, St. John nodded to Jo, and they were ready to begin.


	3. Is This Trip Necessary?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for triage, and calling for medical transport. Or not.

While St. John was talking, Jo had been doing a visual check for any obvious gushing wounds. Gushing anything out of your body was generally a bad idea and usually did not end well. Thankfully there seemed to be none of that. There was a good amount of blood, yes, but it seemed to be from multiple sources, with none of the wounds too out of control. She'd also timed his respiration while his attention was on St. John, remembering her ABC's. His airway seemed clear and unobstructed, and while his breathing was erratic and shallow, he was at least breathing. As far as circulation...well, most of it was still in his veins and was doing something resembling circulating. His pulse was strong, although fast and erratic. There was no doubt about it...they could stabilize him, but he needed a hospital, and soon.  
"OK, pal," St. John was saying. "We're going to lay you flat, and I'm not going to lie. Moving is going to hurt like a bitch. You want a morphine shot first?"  
Rivers shook his head. He hated being out of control, even when he was among people he trusted. St. John shook his head. "You're more like String every day."  
"Just move me." was Mike's only reply.  
St. John cleared an area free of debris and put a blanket down. Then Jo grabbed his legs and St. John grabbed him under the arms and stabilized his head. They started moving, and with a groan bordering on a scream, it was done.  
"OK, it's over, it's over." Jo soothed as she moved up by his head. "Now we can give you the once over."  
"I always knew...knew you wanted to...do that." Mike said, the adrenaline giving him something akin to a second wind.  
Jo smiled at him and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
"You're sure you don't want the morphine?" St. John asked, squatting down beside him again. "Buddy, this is going to hurt like hell. What you just felt with us moving you is going to feel like a day spa compared to the field exam you're about to get."  
Mike stared him down, but St. John knew he was winning the battle.  
"You can trust me, Mike," he said as he laid a hand on the injured man's shoulder. "You know you can trust me. And you don't have to prove anything to us. So come on, stop being a tough guy. Let me give you the morphine. It'll at least take the edge of."  
"We're right here, Mike," Jo whispered, gently smoothing back some stray blond curls. She frowned as she realized he his skin felt cold. He was going into shock. "Just let us take care of you."  
Mike startled again when St. John stood abruptly and left the room. His breathing quickened, and that was already too fast and shallow. Jo carefully lifted one of his hands and held it between her two smaller ones.  
"He just went to get the field kit, honey. We're not leaving you."  
Each of them carried a field kit in their vehicles, a hazard of the type of work they often did. The one carried in Airwolf was more complete, but they would have what they needed to stabilize him.  
"T...talk to me," he pleaded. "I'm drift...drifting."  
"We're going to take care of that, Mike. Just rest. Do you feel my hand?"  
He nodded, then that turned into another startle as St. John re-entered the room and set down a large metal field kit. As Jo soothed him some more, St. John opened a sterile needle and picked up a vial.  
"N..no." Mike said suddenly and desperately. "No. No more. N..no...no more."  
Jo cast St. John a worried glance then looked back down at her wounded friend.  
"Mike? What do you mean?"'  
"No more drugs," he said weakly.  
They both checked his arms and neck for any signs on an injection, but he was so bruised and cut and injection site would be difficult to find. Was he flashing back to the Scotland mission? His assailants had drugged him then, trying to get him to give up information, but it had backfired and Mike had slipped into a coma. Well, St. John had killed Mike's captors by then, but the drug had already taken its full effect. Although it probably had saved his life by slowing down his metabolism, thereby lessening the effect of his injuries, St. John was plagued with guilt over not getting to him sooner. Her also didn't want to risk overdosing him on something. This made him hesitant to give Mike the morphine, but he knew he had to make a judgement call.  
"Mike?" St. John said quietly. "Mike? Can you hear me, buddy?"  
Mike groaned in what he hoped was an answer.  
"You know me, right?"  
"Ssss....sssinjin..." he slurred.  
"That's right. And you can trust me, right?"  
Mike gave a slight nod of his head.  
"Good. Now listen to me. I'll give you just a half dose. It should kill the pain, give you a little high, but you should be able to stay conscious. Do you understand?"  
Mike gave another slight nod of his head.  
"I promise, buddy. I'm going to take care of you."  
Mike finally agreed and St. John picked up one of his arms to start looking for the best injection site. His other hand was being held by Jo, and she occasionally left hand-holding to caress his cheek or smooth his hair back. Mike winced a little when the needle went in, but Jo was sure it was small potatoes compared to what he was going through. Within a few seconds the narcotic was starting to take effect, and Jo felt his hand relax in hers.  
"Did you really just give him a half-dose?"  
"I promised, didn't I?" he said. "I'll give him the rest if he needs it, and..." he paused to make his point, "he IS going to need it. Right now he's feeling that half dose more because he's already such a wreck."  
He started digging into the kit some more and pulled out some antiseptic and a few cleansing cloths, tossing some to Jo. "We'd better get back to work before that stuff hits its peak. See how bad that eye is?"  
Jo nodded and they both went to work. Mike didn't so much as wince as she started dabbing at the bloody wound above his eye. St. John got a similar nonresponse as he checked Mike for broken bones and open wounds.  
"I called Jason while I was getting the kit." he said as he started unbuttoning Mike's shirt to check for abdominal wounds. "He's sending a team out to take him to a Company hospital."  
Mike groaned and grabbed at St. John's hand as he pushed down lightly on one rib at a time to check for any give.  
"Looks like a couple of cracked ones," he said as he put his other hand gently over Mike's and loosened Mike's grip on his wrist.  
"You think?" Jo said dryly.  
St. John offered a smirk, but turned his attention to Mike.  
"Hey, buddy, can you hear me?"  
"Mmmm?" was Mike's only response.  
"I've got good news. I'm not going to poke and prod at you any more."  
Mike didn't open his eyes but did turn his head in the direction of St. John's voice.  
"I hear...hear a...but..." he managed.  
"Doesn't mean the poking and prodding is over. We're going to hand you over to some Company medics."  
To their surprise, that triggered a panic. Before St. John could finish his sentence, Mike started to struggle to sit up. It took both Jo and St. John to keep him prone.  
"Mike! Mike, it's OK. They're people Jason knows. Jason trusts them. We're not going to let anything else happen to you."  
"No...no more. No more."  
"Mike," St. John soothed, "you need medical attention. And you need more than either Jo or I are trained for."  
"Not safe. It's not...not safe."  
St. John shot Jo a look, then looked back down at Mike. "Not safe? Why, Mike? What's going on?"  
Mike seemed to be drifting again, so St. John gave him a light shake.  
"Mike? Come on, buddy. Talk to us."  
"Not so...not so bad...right now..."  
"That's because we drugged you, flyboy."  
Poor choice of words, Jo realized instantly. Their wounded warrior let his fight or flight response kick in, and they discovered that even in the pain and morphine haze, he was a force to be reckoned with.  
"I just meant the painkiller," she said urgently as both she and St. John tried to push him back down. He was halfway to sitting up again when recognition hit his face.  
"Jo..." he said as he stopped fighting them and let himself be lowered back to the floor.  
"That's right," she said, picking up the antiseptic bottle again to work on some more of the cuts around his face. She frowned at the extensive bruising. He had to have a concussion, probably a severe one. She had no idea how he was even conscious.  
"There we go," she said gently as she finished cleaning the last of the visible cuts.  
"Well, hate to tell you this, buddy, but you're not going to be on the cover of GQ any time soon."  
That caused Mike to chuckle weakly, then he groaned in pain. Jo gave his hand a squeeze, then got up and gathered some pillows to form a bolster to elevate his legs. She then covered him with one of the blankets from the wrecked bed before sitting on the floor beside him again and taking one of his hands.  
"Shouldn't someone be here by now?" she asked St. John, trying and failing to hide the worry in her voice.  
"They'll probably be here any minute," he said, but he took out his phone again anyway. He hit the speed dial for Jason as he stepped out into the hall.  
"Locke."  
"Jason. Where in hell is that transport?"  
"They're not there yet?"  
"Would I be calling you if they were?" he snapped. Then, "Look, I'm sorry. But he needs a hospital, and he needs it NOW. We've done all we can do for him here, and I think he's going into shock. Jason, if there is internal bleding he could be dying on us as we speak."  
There was a heavy silence on the other end, and then,  
"It's that bad?"  
"Remember how he looked in Scotland?"  
"Remember? I'll never forget it. He scared the hell out of all of us."  
"He looks WORSE than he did in Scotland."  
St. John heard a long exhale, then Jason spoke again.  
"OK. Take him to the Company hospital. I'll come out and secure his apartment then I'll come find you. Just get him some help."  
"I'd have already HAD him some help if I'd known it wasn't coming," St. John snapped, hanging up the phone before Jason could reply. Then, angry and determined, he took a deep breath and walked back down the hall into Mike's bedroom. Jo's head snapped around when he entered.  
"Well?" she asked expectantly.  
"Take one of the blankets and go get into the back seat of your car. I'm going to carry him out to you and then we're going to take him to the hospital."  
Jo paled when he said that. "No one is coming? St. John...."  
"I know. We've lost too much time already. Just do it."  
With a worried sigh, she gave Mike a final squeeze of the hand then grabbed a blanket and headed out to her car. She climbed in, then spread the blanket out over the seat so she could cocoon him when St. John brought him out to her.  
She didn't have to wait long befor she saw St. John hefting Mike out in his arms.  
"OK," he said breathlessly as he reached the car, "Here he is. Watch his head."  
She reached over and helped pull him in, cradling his head in her lap as she pulled the blanket around him, then helped St. John do the same with another blanket he'd brought out.  
"He passed out again," she said as she suddenly realized that Mike should have been screaming through that entire ordeal of being carried. St. John said nothing, just closed the door and got into the driver's seat before he answered.  
"I gave him the other half dose before I picked him up," he explained.  
"Good," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "He didn't need to suffer through that."  
"He didn't need to suffer ANY of this, for whatever reason it happened," St. John said, glancing up at her in the rear view mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. "He's going to be OK. Just talk to him and keep him wrapped up tight. If he's going into shock, we need to keep him warm. I'll get us there as quickly as I can."  
"Talk? But he's..."  
"Talk to him," St. John repeated more firmly. "Even if you don't think he's hearing you, talk to him. He needs to hear our voices."  
Jo nodded and looked back down at the man she was cradling.  
"Did you hear St. John, honey?" she asked, not even noticing the man driving looking up suddenly in the rearview mirror. "You're going to be OK. We're going to get you some help. We just need you to hang on for us."  
As Jo looked out onto the wet morning streets, she really hoped she was speaking the truth. They rode in silence for another moment or two. The only sounds were Jo's soft murmuring to Mike and an occasional groan from Mike. The streets were a little busier now, but St. John still drove like a madman. This had taken entirely too long, and he and Jason were going to have a serious discussion once Mike got adequate medical care.  
Almost on cue, his cell rang.  
"Hawke." he growled into the phone.  
"St. John. DON'T take Mike to the hospital."  
"What do you mean, DON'T take him?"  
The last statement caused Jo to look up in alarm.  
"The medic team wasn't just late. They were intercepted."  
"Intercepted by WHO? Jason, this isn't making any sense."  
"Take him to Santini Air. I've already called your brother. He'll pick you up and take you to the cabin."  
"The cabin? Jason, he needs..."  
"If you will let me finish a sentence. Archangel has arranged for a doctor he trusts to be sent to the cabin."  
"He needs more than a checkup!"  
Another heavy sigh from Jason. "I know. Look, it's just temporary. It will do no good to take him to a hospital, even a civilian hospital, if they kill him."  
"Jason..." he began angrily.  
"Just do it, St. John. I'll meet you there and explain everything."  
St. John hung up and tossed his phone into the passenger seat.  
"What's going on?" came a worried voice from the back.  
"Change of plans," he said as he whipped the car around and backtracked the two blocks to the road that would take them to the hangar. "How is he?"  
"Unconscious."  
"It's just the morphine." he said, as much to reassure himself as her. Neither of them believed it, though.  
"The morphine and the beating he took," she replied. "Why aren't we taking him to a hospital?"  
"Jason says it's dangerous. He's having String meet us at the hangar."  
"The HANGAR?"  
St. John shrugged.  
"That's what he said. He wouldn't tell me anything else yet. I trust Jason, Jo. He wouldn't needlessly put Mike's life in danger. It doesn't make sense to me, either, but I trust him."  
"I know. So do I." she replied softly as she returned her attention to Mike. Resting her hand against the side of his bruised face, she hoped that her trust wasn't misplaced.


	4. To The Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> String meets the trio at the hangar.

They pulled into the Santini Air parking lot, a grim-looking String leaning against his helicopter. St. John pulled the car onto the far side of the chopper, close to the door. String walked around and opened the chopper door, then turned and opened Jo's door. He flinched minutely when he saw Mike, but it was almost imperceptible, and he recovered quickly.  
"Hey, Jo," he said simply. Then he leaned in to hook his arms under Mike's shoulders. "Hey, Rivers. Can you hear me?"  
Mike opened his one good eye in response, and String grinned at him.  
"You look like crap, man."  
"Thanks," Mike whispered."  
"Brace yourself," String said as St. John appeared beside him. "Gonna start moving."  
Mike groaned as String started pulling Mike out over Jo's legs. She sat there and helped move him inch by inch, feeding him to String and St. John until he was completely out of the car. As gently as they could, they placed him in the chopper while Jo locked her car and climbed in on the other side. String stretched out a wool blanket on top of the one he was already wrapped in, and Jo grabbed an oxygen mask from the chopper's equipment.  
"Keep him warm, Jo," St. John said as the brothers climbed into the front seats and strapped on headsets.   
String was just starting up the rotors when Jason pulled up. They watched him park his car and run fto the chopper.  
"Room for one more?" he yelled over the rotors as he climbed in.  
String continued the flight sequence and no one said anything as the chopper lifted and took off in the direction of the cabin. The entire flight was tight and tense. The uninjured men said nothing, Mike was drifting in and out of consciousness, and Jo kept busy tending to him. They were all worried about how Mike's battered head would deal with the change in air pressure, but if there was any increase in pain he didn't register it. But, then, he was mostly unconscious, so that might have had something to do with that. Thankfully the flight only lasted a few minutes until the cabin came into view. Jo could see Caitlin standing on the porch, leaning against one of the pillars at the top of the steps.  
"Going down!" String yelled over the noise. Then, "Gonna feel a bump, Rivers, but I'll set her down as easy as I can."  
Mike didn't respond, and before Jo could take another breath, they were on the ground. The warning about the bump was unnecessary, because String could land just about anything in any condition and make you think you'd landed on feathers.  
St. John hopped out and opened the rear door as String shut everything down.  
"Hey pal," Jason said as he unstrapped himself and knelt beside Jo. "How are you feeling?"  
"Like hell," he admitted. "Did..did they find...find..."  
"No, "Jason said. "It was right where you left it. Now, come on. Let's get you inside and see if we can't find a Band-Aid."  
By then String was by his brother's side. Locke helped Jo sit Mike up, and the Hawke brothers lifted him out.  
"Easy, buddy," St. John said as he adjusted his grip under Mike's shoulders. "We're going to start moving now. We'll get it over with as easily and quickly as we can."  
As they walked away, Jo glared at Jason.  
"What did WHO find? What was he talking about?"  
"Relax, Jo. I'll explain everything."  
"Damned straight you will."  
Jason sighed. "Let's get inside. We can talk after we've gotten him situated."  
Jo let out an exasperated sigh herself and left the chopper.


	5. Suffer The Children

String and St. John carried Mike up the steps of the cabin as carefully as they could, but were nearly knocked over as a small blond boy of about 8 burst through the door of the cabin, Caitlin trying in vain to stop him.  
"Uncle Mike! Uncle Mike!"  
"Michael, wait." Caitlin was saying. "Let's get him inside first."  
The boy stopped cold as he saw that they were carrying him. String and St. John looked at each other, both wanting to tell the kid that Mike would be OK, but knowing very well they couldn't promise. They didn't have long to think about it, anyway. They quickly had to refocus their energies on Mike. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but the young boy's sudden cries were stirring him awake, and the alarm in the kid's voice was obviously stirring a protective streak in Mike. Semiconscious and confused, he began fighting them and he nearly kicked String over.  
"Let's get him inside before we hurt him," St. John said as he scrambled to keep his grip.  
"Or he hurts us," String said dryly. "Boy kicks like a mule even half dead."  
"String!" Caitlin said harshly, pulling the boy in closer to her. St. John wisely started them moving again before an argument could ensue.  
Caitlin glared at the men as she restrained the young boy. He was damned near hysterical anyway, and with good reason. He'd just watched his parents die within the last few days, and now, after what he'd just seen and heard..."  
"Michael," she said calmly, although in truth she was just as alarmed as the child was. "Michael, calm down."  
"Everybody keeps saying that, and worser and worser things keep happening!" he shouted.  
"I know," she said as she watched the others file in. Jason had a grim look on his face but nodded to her as he walked past. Jo just looked vacant, on autopilot, and didn't seem to notice them at all. Been there, done that, she thought.  
"I want to see Uncle Mike!" he protested as he took a step towards the door. Caitlin pulled him back and wrapped her arms around him.  
"Let them get settled in first," she said as she sat down on the top step. "Then we'll go take a look-see, check on how he's doing."  
"What happened to him?" the kid asked pleadingly, looking back at the cabin before sitting down beside her. He hadn't known Mike long...hadn't known any of them long...but Mike had been the first one to get him to talk.  
"Some bad men hurt him," she explained, putting an arm over his shoulders. "but we're going to help him as best as we can."  
"Was it the same ones who hurt my parents?"  
"I don't know. I don't think we know who did it yet. We can ask him when we go in to see him, if he's awake."  
They sat in silence for several moments, watching the sun rise over the horizon. It was too nice a day for something like this to be happening, she thought. Then she closed her eyes to calm herself, and that's when the kid asked the scary question.  
"He's going to die too, isn't he?" Michael asked, wiping a tear from his eyes.  
She looked at him before answering, and she knew that she had tears in her eyes too. Oh well, she thought, wiping it away. Good for the kid to see that adults have emotions too.  
"I don't know," she admitted. "But we're going to do everything we can to try to make sure he doesn't."  
"But isn't that why he's here?" Michael spoke warily, blue eyes glistening with tears he was trying to hold back. Too much sorrow for someone so young, she thought. And he'd seen the people who killed his parents.  
"Why on earth would you think that, Michael?"  
"My Great Aunt Becky came home, and I thought she was getting better." He paused to sniff, and leaned his head on her shoulder. "But everybody was so sad, and all these strange people kept coming and going. Mom said they were hostess nurses."  
"Oh, I see." Caitlin let her brilliant red hair fall forward to hide her face as she wiped away another tear. "That sounds like a hospice nurse."  
"What's that?"  
Oh, boy, how to handle THAT question. How'd she open THAT can of worms?  
"Well," she began, swallowing hard before she continued, "Sometimes when someone has been sick for a very long time, their body just gets really tired and they can't keep going."  
"And they die and go to heaven?"  
"Some people think that. But when doctors know they've done all they can do, the person can sometimes choose to go home to be more comfortable. Some towns have places called hospice, and people can either stay there and get cared for, or stay in their own homes and hospice will send nurses out to care for them. They also have people you can talk to if you're sad about someone who has died."  
Caitlin glanced at him sideways to gauge his reaction. The only thing she got was another question.  
"Then why not be in a hospital, where the nurses already are?"  
Caitlin looked at him carefully.  
"Michael, have you ever asked anyone these questions before?"  
"No," he answered. "I was only 6 when Great Aunt Becky went away. I was just a little kid and didn't know the words to ask what I wanted to ask...or to say what I was feeling."  
"I know what that's like," she said, and she thought he looked relieved. "You've been thinking mighty hard about this, haven't you?"  
"Yeah." He looked up at her and shrugged. "Especially lately."  
"Things have been scary, huh?"  
"My mom was scared. I think my dad was scared too, sometimes, but he never said."  
"Adults get scared sometimes. I get scared."  
"You do?"  
"Mmm-hmmm."  
She waited to see if he felt better about being scared, but he only said, "So, why not a hospital?"  
Damn. Guess she wasn't getting out of that question, either.  
"Well, hospitals are noisy, and lots of times if people have a choice and have time to think about it, they will choose to be at home when their time comes. That way friends and family can come and go without worrying about visiting hours. To spend time with people they love, and say goodbye."  
Michael looked at her suspiciously, and with his expression she could almost see a resemblance to Mike Rivers, with this angelic eyes and little blond curls. They weren't actually related, of course...but it was a nice thought.  
"That's not why he's here?"  
Caitlin studied the child carefully before deciding how to answer. The kid was holding up well, all things considered, but he was definitely connecting the dots between whatever had happened to the major and what had happened to his parents. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands in front of her.  
"The people who hurt Uncle Mike still want to hurt him, so we need to hide him. We have to watch him very carefully because he can't defend himself right now. The people we work for are going to send a doctor and some medical equipment so we can help him."  
"Like hospice?"  
"Mmm, yes and no."  
"How can it be both?"  
"Yes, because hospice does things like that, send equipment and people to their patients' homes. And no, because that's not why WE'RE doing it."  
"We're keeping him safe."  
"Yes."  
"Can I see him now?"  
She was about to suggest that they go inside and check when a large white Bell helicopter appeared over the tree line.  
"Archangel." String said from behind her. She jumped; she hadn't heard anyone come outside. Yet there he stood, coffee mug in hand, leaning casually against the door.  
"Go on inside, Michael," he said, winking at the boy in amusement over her reactin. "St. John will let you see Mike if you ask him."  
That was all the encouragement the kid needed to rush inside. String stood back and watched him run in, then leaned against the doorframe again.  
"You're good with kids," he offered, taking a drink of his coffee and ignoring her glare.  
"He just needed someone to explain to him what was happening," she yelled over the noise of the landing chopper. "How is he?" she asked more softly, as the rotors slowed and then stopped.  
"Better now that he isn't being carried around like a sack of potatoes." String answered, taking another sip of his coffee. He glanced up at her over the top of his mug and added, "I wanted to say something to him, you know."  
They watched Archangel and a man they presumed to be the doctor get out and start their approach. Caitlin stood and leaned into String, and he wrapped his ar ms around her and let her sink into him.  
"I know." She sighed, enjoying the small comfort. "You can't make promises in situations like this. Besides," she added, her eyes twinkling, "You were too busy trying to not get your ass kicked good by an unconscious man."  
"I didn't mean for him to hear what I said."  
"What did you say?" Archangel asked as he approached the front steps.  
"Nothing." Caitlin gave String's hand a squeeze and took a step towards the edge of the porch.  
"Ah," Michael gestured to the middle-aged man behind him with two med-tech cases in hand. "This is Dr. William Carter. And on that seque, how is our patient?"  
"Blissfully unconscious when I stepped out here a moment ago," String answered as he glanced back towards the door. "The last dose of morphine St. John gave him will be wearing off soon, though, and he's going to wish he was unconscious then."  
"Ouch."  
"That's an understatement." String opened the door and looked around. "Well, are you coming in?"  
"We're not here for a quilting bee," Caitlin added, shooing them in. "The boy's hurt. Go help him!"


	6. Chapter 6

St. John and String stood by the window watching Mike slip in and out of consciousness. The two men had hefted him into the main bedroom; Caitlin had prepared it while String was out on the pickup. String looked from his brother to the man on the bed. Their cousin Jo sat on the bed holding the injured man's hand, and Jason Locke stood behind her, hands on Jo's shoulders, talking quietly to her.  
"I appreciate this," St. John said.  
"He's part of the team, he's your best friend. Far as I'm concerned, he's family." String looked over at the people on and around the bed. "'Sides, much as I might want to bust his chops from time to time, he sure as hell doesn't deserve THAT."  
St. John let his mouth twitch into what was almost a grin. His best friend and his brother didn't always get along. String was hard and grim, and Mike was everything but that, but the two had developed a sort of friendship and definite respect for each other. Most of their volleys were friendly, but occasionally got heated. Sometimes Mike didn't see when he was taking a joke too far; sometimes String just couldn't see that he was being toxic. All in all, though, Mike had been one of the ones who had brought St. John home, and String would always feel like he owed him for that.  
"Did he say anything?"  
"Mostly incoherent. Half the time he was awake he didn't know where he was, and that was BEFORE I gave him the morphine."  
String clapped his brother on the shoulder.  
"He's tough."  
"Yeah." St. John paused to look at his brother. "Just wish he didn't have to prove it so often."  
"We'll get them. For Rivers AND the kid."  
"Speaking of. Who IS the kid?"  
String's eyes hardened. "Ask Locke," he said angrily, then left the room without another word.

 

"Well, how about it?" St. John asked as Jason looked over at him.  
"How about what?"  
The Airwolf liason and team member gave Jo's shoulder a squeeze then stepped over to the window.  
"You seemed to have ticked off my brother."  
Jason smirked. "Like that's so hard to do?"  
St. John shrugged. "OK, you got me there. Regardless; you want to tell me what's going on here?"  
Jason looked over at Mike, then back to St. John.  
"Come on, out with it," St. John warned.  
"The kid's parents worked for us..."  
"Worked?"  
"Yes," hissed Jason angrily, hushing his voice again when Jo looked over at them. "His parents were killed three days ago. They were scientists. Biochemists."  
"Biochemists? So what, we're into biological weapons now?"  
"DEFENSE AGAINST biological weapons,"   
Those last words were spoken in hushed tones through clenched teeth.  
"So...whatever they were working on got them killed?"  
"There was a leak. A month ago, they started getting death threats. Then little things, like they noticed they were being followed. The final straw was when their son went to pick out a book for family reading time and there was a note for the parents. IN the kid's bedroom."  
St. John turned away from Jason and rested his head against his forearm on the window. He already knew what was coming next, and he didn't want to go there. Memories flooded in of his own parents, of long nights trying to comfort his brother...no, he did not like where this was going.  
"What did the Company do to protect them?"  
"They wore tracers. We set up surveillance cameras in every room of their home. They had 24hr bodyguard detail. The Martins themselves stayed armed at all times."  
St. John closed his eyes against the wave of pain that he knew was coming. Shut it down, shut it down, he told himself...no point falling apart now.  
"What did the kid see?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answers.  
"Their house was raided in the middle of the night. One of the guards had been bought off. They killed the parents in front of their son, St. John. I saw it all on the surveillance tapes. They apparently weren't expecting an 8 year old boy to give them so much trouble. Damnedest thing I've ever seen. Michael went on autopilot. Ran into the woods. Grabbed his dad's cell phone before he ran out the door, called us, then ditched the phone. I have no idea how a kid his age kept that much of a cool head."  
"I do." St. John didn't look up as he spoke.  
"And that's exactly why we didn't bring you and String into this in the first place."  
That caused him to look up sharply.  
"Well, we're in it now, aren't we? And in case you haven't noticed, Mike is too."  
"Yes. We called Mike in to help us watch the kid."  
"Michael. The kid has a name."  
Jason looked down. "Sorry. Michael. I called Mike because we had a logistics problem and he subbed in. The kid...Michael...took a real liking to Mike, and started talking for the first time. He was telling Mike more than he told any of us."  
"Uncle Mike..." St. John said under his breath. That was what the kid had said when they came up the steps carrying him.  
"Look, Mike was just looking out for..."  
"Why didn't you tell us?"  
"I told you why."  
"Damn it, Locke. We're a team. If he was doing something that dangerous, we could have been watching his back. Clearly someone knows who he is and where he lives. Someone on YOUR team."  
"Now wait a minute..."  
"So what does the Company want with Michael now?"  
"What *I* want," Jason looked at him pointedly, "is to protect him. Now, he did show Mike where his parents kept their encryption codes. That's what Mike was keeping for him."  
St. John turned around and leaned back against the window; he was getting restless and he wanted to do something. Watching Jo keep her vigil was going to be painful. String was right. They had to find the people who did this, for Mike's sake as well as the sake of the Martin child. And for the Martins, he allowed himself to add.  
A sudden outcry from Jo got the attention of both men, and they ran to the bedside.  
"We need help!" Jo cried. Mike had fallen into a coughing spasm, and when Jo had wiped his mouth with tissues she had come away with blood. "Where in hell is that doctor?"  
St. John grabbed a towel as Jason pulled Jo away from Mike. Somewhere in all that commotion there was a moment's silence where he heard what had to be the best sound he'd heard all day; a Bell helicopter.  
"Good timing, Archangel," he said under his breath. Then, to Jason, "Get Jo out of here. And get that doctor up here as soon as that damned thing lands!"  
Then he turned his attention back to Mike.  
"Come on, buddy, sit up for me. That'll make breathing easier. Come on...come on. There we go. I've got you." Mike struggled his way up and St. John sat on the bed and slipped an arm under his back to support him. Mike, too weak to do anything else, let his head fall onto St. John's chest.  
"I know breathing hurts right now. Just keep trying. Easy....easy. I just heard Archangel land. He's supposed to be bringing...."  
His words were cut short by an older gentleman flying in the door. He wasn't about to let the man anywhere near Mike without knowing who he was, but he wasn't given much choice. The man immediately started opening the two cases he had carried in with him, and he recognized Marella, one of Archangel's assistants, carrying in more medical equipment.  
"Well, now, you must be Major Rivers. I'm Dr. Carter. Let me have a look at you, lad, and let's see if I can't help you feel a little better."  
He stood waiting for St. John to move, but St. John wasn't budging.  
"Ah, St. John," Archangel said nonchalantly as he walked in the door, "I see you've met Dr. Carter."  
"We've just met, thank you," St. John responded without taking his eyes off Dr. Carter.  
"Well, then, don't you think you should let him have a look at our major here?" Marella said gently as she laid a hand on St. John's arm. "You did the right thing by sitting him up, but let's lay him back down again and let Dr. Carter help him."  
"He'll take good care of him, St. John," Archangel joined in, suddenly aware that there was a trust problem.  
St. John looked up at Marella, and she nodded to him. He looked over at the doctor, then back down at Mike, who had passed out again in his arms but was still breathing. Slowly St. John lowered him down and Marella helped slide Mike off of his arm. Then, her hand on his, she looked him directly in the eyes.  
"I'm going to help Dr. Carter; I promise you I'll keep watch over him. I won't let anything happen to him."  
St. John nodded as Archangel walked over and started leading him towards the door. "Hang in there, Mike," he said aloud, and he hesitated a moment even though he knew there would be no answer.


	7. Chapter 7

St. John walked numbly out into the main room of the cabin, Archangel right behind him. He really needed to do something. He needed to find these people, make sure they didn't hurt anyone else. If there was a leak within the Company...he didn't know who to trust. He trusted Marella, and that was the only reason he'd left the room at all. He didn't know this doctor. And clearly, if one of the guards who had been watching the Martins had been bought off, then trusting someone just because Locke or Archangel trusted them was a mistake.  
"He's going to be OK." Archangel was saying. "Dr. Carter can work miracles."  
"He'd damned well better have one up his sleeve," St. Joh was saying, then stopped short as the Martin kid turned his head.  
"Can I go see him?"  
"Let's let Dr. Carter have a look at him first, then we'll see what we can do about you seeing him, OK, pal?" St. John said.  
"I'm not your pal."  
"Michael!"  
St. John shook his head. "It's OK, Caitlin."  
He knew not to take it personally. And he knew how angry and scared the kid probably was. Hell, he was probably afraid to get close to anyone, with his parents gone and Mike severely injured.  
String cleared his throat to get his attention, and when he looked over to where his brother was standing by the bar, String held a shot glass out to him. He didn't even ask what it was, just walked over and downed it.  
"Where's Jo?" he asked as he set the glass down. String started to pour him another shot but St. John waved him off.  
"Out on the porch," Caitlin said. "I'd leave her for a few minutes if I were you, then go check on her."  
St. John nodded. He knew Caitlin had been in Jo's position before with his brother. He also realized that while they both might deny it, his cousin was falling in love with his best friend. Love could definitely stir up the emotions.  
Jo had also been up a long time at this point; he knew that she was beyond exhausted, and now sick with worry as well. While his instinct was to immediately go to her, he knew that with his cousin it was best to give her space for a little while, just as Caitlin had suggested.   
With nothing to do but wait, St. John walked over to one of the recliners in front of the fireplace and plopped himself down, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose against the headache that he knew was coming.  
"She's afraid he's going to die, isn't she?"  
St. John opened his eyes and looked at Michael, struggling to bring to mind what to say to him.  
"The lady outside," he said, taking St. John's hesitation as confusion about who he meant. "She's afraid he's going to die."  
St. John looked at Caitlin, who pursed her lips into a thin line and nodded to him.  
"Are you afraid he's going to die?"  
Michael looked away and returned his attention to the piece of paper he had been drawing on.  
"That's not fair," he said without looking up again. "Answering a question with a question."  
"You're right. I'm sorry."  
"Well?"  
This time he did look back up when he spoke.  
"She's worried," St. John began slowly, since clearly none of the other adults in the room were going to come to his rescue. "We all are. I can't promise you he's going to be OK, budd...Michael. I wish I could, but I can't."  
Michael nodded, but didn't say anything. St. John moved to sit on the sofa behind where the kid was kneeling as he drew at the coffee table.  
"Say, you're pretty good at that," St. John offered. "My brother was pretty good at drawing at one time."  
"Is Uncle Mike your brother?"  
St. John shook his head. "No. String."  
"String is your brother?"   
St. John nodded at him when the kid looked up at him. "Yep."  
"So do you have a weird name too?"  
String snorted and Cait gave a small giggle into the back of her hand as she turned away. Archangel didn't bother to hide his laughter.  
St. John just held out his hand for Michael to shake. "You can call me Sinjin. It's short for..."  
"St. John. I know. My dad has a friend with that name." A dark look crossed his face. "Had. Sorry."  
"Don't apologize," St. John said gently, resting a hand on the kid's shoulder. "I sometimes still talk about my parents like they were still here. I understand."  
"Your parents...are gone?"  
St. John nodded. String abruptly grabbed his jacket and mumbled something about getting some firewood in before dark. He slammed the door behind him, and Caitlin shrugged at St. John then walked out the door after him.  
"He must still miss them," Michael said.  
"He does. I do too. It's OK to miss them."  
"I know." he said quietly. "Well, my head knows that. I don't know that my heart knows."  
"You know," St. John said, "I know exactly how that feels."

Jason walked out of the bedroom where Dr. Carter and Marella were doing their best to stabilize Mike. He was impressed. He knew there were often rumors and jokes about the beautiful women Archangel kept around him, but Jason had met a few of them over the years and they were always top notch, and many of them were jack-of-all-trades. Marella seemed highly skilled with medical procedures, and given the limited resources they were forced to work with here, he suspected she was a trained battlefield medic. He made sure things got underway, then decided he needed to get out of their way.   
He wanted to stay in the room as badly as St. John did. It always sent his blood pressure through the roof to have a man wounded in action. When St. John had called him, he hadn't even come close to imagining how bad it was going to be. He wanted to make sure everything was OK. After all, he had been the one to put Mike in harm's way. He then realized that the best way for him to make sure things were OK would be to get the hell out of the way.  
And so he walked out to face the others, knowing that at least two of the people waiting outside the door were very angry with him. He had explaining to do, he knew. And he didn't know what would happen to his team if Mike didn't...no, he couldn't think that way.  
He was surprised to find that there were only three people left in the room. St. John, Archangel, and the kid all looked around expectantly as he walked out. The others were nowhere to be seen.  
"Everything OK?" St. John asked.  
"They're working on him," Jason said. He was going to be very careful about how he spoke, with an 8 year old in the room. A tough 8 year old, to be sure, but an 8 year old nonetheless. "I'm impressed with your assistant, Archangel."  
Archangel smiled. "She's very talented. Don't worry. You can trust Dr. Carter. I know you don't know him like I do, but he's excellent. And even if you don't trust him completely, you can trust Marella."  
"I got that feeling from her," Jason said. "Where are the others?"  
"Getting some air." St. John replied. "I'm about to go check on Jo momentarily." He stood and stretched his legs. "Keep up the good work, Michael. Art is a great outlet." He turned to Jason. "Come with me."  
Jason sighed. No time like the present to get started on the next rough patch. He followed St. John out to the porch, where he found Jo leaning on one of the railings staring down the hill and out over the lake. He stood back while St. John walked up to her and put and arm around her.  
"They're working on him," he heard him say quietly. "They should at least be able to get him stable and help with the pain until we can get him to a hospital. And speaking of..." he turned to face Jason. "Jason, did you say you had recordings from the security cameras in the boy's home?"  
"I do."  
"Any clear view of faces?"  
"Kind of grainy. You want to see them?"  
St. John looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  
"Yeah, I guess you do. OK, OK. But you'll need to come to it, I can't bring them to you."  
"That's fine. I don't want to risk the kid seeing it again anyway. It's better that I watch them on premises."  
"I agree."  
"Who is the kid?" Jo asked, "And what does this have to do with why Mike was attacked in his own home?"  
"His parents worked for us," Jason explained. "They were both killed. Mike was helping to protect him, so we're assuming that's why..."  
"ASSUMING?" St. John demanded.  
Again, Jason sighed. "anyway, St. John has the more complete story. The important thing is, the kid is safe, and so is the work his parents did, thanks to Mike."  
"Well, it damned well better have been worth it." Jo countered.  
"Do you think Mike would have taken the job if he didn't think it was worth it?" Jason yelled, then immediately quieted his voice again.   
"I guess not." Jo leaned against the railing and crossed her arms in front of her, then brought one of her hands to her forehead. "Sorry. God, what if he doesn't make it, guys?"  
St. John put his arm around her and pulled her in to him. "We can't think like that," he said quietly. "He's strong. He's getting medical care..."  
"But not what he needs..."  
"For right now it's all we can do," Jason offered. He walked over to Jo and tilted her chin up. "And we'll have to hope it's enough for now until I can find and plug that leak."  
And he would find it. And may God help the mole if Michael Rivers died.


	8. Chapter 8

Mike awoke with a start and struggled to sit up. He was weak, drenched in sweat, and he was sure there wasn't a single part of his body that didn't hurt. He struggled to remember where he was. It was too dark to tell by looking around, and it had become obvious that he wasn't going to sit up any time soon.  
"Easy, kid," came a voice from over to his right. "You don't feel as good as you think you do."  
"Yeah? I think I feel like crap, so I don't know that I like that logic," he said as he tried to peer into the corner. He was met with robust laughter, but his...visitor?...didn't lean forward into the sparse moonlight provided through the window. He didn't like not seeing who he was talking to, but he didn't get a bad feeling from whoever was with him. He felt...oddly safe, and considering that he had just had the crap beat out of him in his own home, he...the kid! He struggled to sit up again.  
"Hey, now, what did I just tell you?" There was movement from the chair in the corner, and a heavyset old man came forward. The face looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Stay down. The kid is fine. You did good, kid. Kept him safe. Lotta people couldn'ta done that, considering what they put you through."  
"Who are they? And for that matter, who the hell are you?" Mike asked, looking up at the old man through his one good eye. This caused another round of raucous laughter from the old man.  
"I can see why my boys are so fond of you. You got spunk, kid."  
The old man sat on the edge of the bed, seeming to wait for him to figure it out.  
"No, no, no. This can't be right." he responded as a strange thought entered his mind. "The Hawkes' father is dead. So is the man who raised them."  
"You're right. I am. You helped my boys get the bastard. Helped get our St. John back." The old man's face darkened. "And they hurt String. As if he hadn't suffered enough. Me, I was an old man, about done anyway. But him...I'll go balls to the wall for that kid. I sit up here with him sometimes. Not so much now as he has Cait, of course. Always knew those two would do good together."  
Mike peered at the old man carefully, not trusting his senses. He could feel without a doubt that he had some head trauma, and he was sure he'd had some drugs....could tell by the way he felt. And then, God knows the Company wasn't above playing mind tricks that could turn your brain to mush.  
"You...you really are Dominic Santini?"  
Dom, if that's who he was, nodded.  
"But you're dead."  
"Give him a gold star! Must be the blond hair."  
Mike took a deep breath and knew without a doubt that he was in the Hawkes' cabin. The air was just fresher, cleaner. But he HAD gone through a beating and a half. Why wasn't he in a hospital?  
"They're keeping you safe, kid. That hospital did the same to String. Tore him down. They were gonna kill him too, before you and St. John got him out of there. they'd have killed you too. That's why my boys brought you up here."  
"I...I'm still confused."  
"I'm welcoming you to the family, boy. I really wish I could have raised ya myself."  
Mike allowed himself to think for a moment that he would have liked that too, considering his own crappy upbringing.  
"You do us proud, kid. And my niece really likes you too, so when she's ready to..."  
"Jo? We're just good friends."  
"Aww, tell me another one. Go after her boy. That girl loves you. Just don't treat her like your current harem and we'll stay on good terms.  
Dom leaned forward and kissed his cheek, Italian style.  
"Seriously, you do us proud, kid. Don't make a liar out of me."   
Dominic Santini stood up and started to walk back over to his chair.  
"Just hang on, kid. And welcome home."  
"Wait! I still don't understand. I don't understand."

"Mike?"  
"don't...don't understand. I don't understand."  
"Mike, wake up, darlin'." Caitlin gently shook him awake "Come on now. Wake up. Open your eyes, darlin'. Wake up. You're safe."  
And wake up he did, almost coming up off the bed. Would have too, if he wasn't already so weak. Caitlin grabbed his shoulders and settled him back down.  
"Hey, relax. Just relax. You were dreaming."  
He let her push him back flat against the mattress again, too weak really to do anything else. He looked around the room as best as he could, one open eye darting around taking in his surroundings.  
"You're all right," she soothed as she dabbed a cool damp cloth against his swollen eye.  
"Caitlin?"  
She nodded.  
"The Hawke cabin?"  
Again she nodded. "We're taking turns sitting with you until we're sure you're stable." she said. "We couldn't risk taking you to a hospital. Somebody in the Company's got it bad for you, darlin'. They'd have killed you for sure."  
He raised up his hand until the IV line came into his line of sight.  
"Well, the Company did loan us some medicines and equipment," she said as she gave him a wink. "'course, they don't know it yet."  
Noticing that he tried to keep looking around, she followed his gaze to where it kept returning. "What's wrong, Mike?"  
"No one else is in the room?"  
She looked from the rocking chair in the corner back to him, then shook her head.  
"No. Doc just stepped out. Are you sure you don't need something? I can go get him...he's just outsi..."  
"No, no. Just thought I heard someone else, that's all."  
She gave him a gentle smile as she re-dampened the cloth and reapplied it to his eye.  
"Well, you did seem like you were dreaming. And you seem to be running a pretty good fever." she said. "That alone can give you some pretty weird dreams."  
"Fever?"   
Cait nodded. "Yeah. Cold sweats. Chills. Doc Carter no sooner got you stable than you spiked a fever on us. You do know how to scare a person silly. You've only been awake once since you got here yesterday morning. Do you remember anything?"  
He closed his eyes and thought as he took in that information. Caitlin could see him struggling to come to terms with what she had just told him.  
"No," he answered when he finally opened his eyes...eye...again. "No. I'm sorry."  
"It's OK." she said gently, resting a soft hand on his bare shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You've been on some heavy drugs, and your face looks like you just went 10 rounds with Evander Holyfield."  
"Gee, thanks."  
She grinned at him, one of her brilliant smiles that could put anyone at ease. She was anything but at ease herself, though, as she realized that his skin was practically burning her hand. Still, no need to alarm him, she reasoned.  
"I only meant that you have a head injury. Between that and the drugs, I'm not surprised you don't remember anything." She smiled at him again as she gently patted the side of his face and neck down with the damp cloth. "Speaking of drugs, I should see if Doc has given you anything for that fever. Let me get him back in here."  
He shook his head twice, immediately regretting it as his head started swimming. "No. Give me a little while between doses. Maybe..." he stopped long enough to catch his breath. "maybe my head will clear."  
She hook her head. "You and String might be polar opposites in personality, but I declare you're both stubborn as mules." She reached over onto the nightstand and picked up a thermometer. "Now, open your mouth...there you go...close it."  
She couldn't help but think that he looked like a pouty child as he suffered the indignity of the thermometer, and that seemed to endear him to her more. She sat holding his hand until it beeped, her face turning ashen when she saw the readout.  
"Not good news, I take it?"  
She shook her head grimly. "104.7. That can't go up any more. We've got to get you cooled down."  
Without waiting for a response, she ran to the door to get help.


	9. The Doctor Vanishes

String walked over to the fireplace and sat down beside Jo Santini, handing her a drink as he sat down. She said nothing, continuing to stare into the fire.  
"Come on, kid. Take it." he urged in his quiet manner.  
She tried to wave him off, but he took her hand and pushed the glass into it.  
"String, I appreciate it, but..."  
"So tell me, what's going on between you and Rivers?"  
The petite blonde looked over at him sharply. "He's a friend. We work together. But you know that."  
"Hey, hey, truce."  
She smirked at him, then grew serious.  
"Look, I'm just worried about him."  
String leaned back, staring into the fire. "Yeah," he said, "I know that feeling. We're all worried. But honey, you're not doing him any good wearing yourself down. We've got his back. We've got yours, too." He reached out and touched her chin lightly, and she swung her head around to look at him. He was taken aback briefly by the hollow look in her eyes. This was not the spitfire he grew up with, the fiery little Italian girl who took everything she did by storm. No, she seemed fragile and broken right now.  
"Jo," he said, a little more harshly than he intended. "You haven't slept since that boy in there called you two days ago. You need to rest. You saved his life..."  
"I'm not so sure about that."  
"Now let us help."  
"Yeah, and you're so good at letting people help you." she shot back.  
He shrugged. "Touche. Look, I'm not going to rag you about him..."  
"Good."  
"But do us all a favor, and save some of yourself for him when he wakes up? He's head over heels for you."  
Jo snorted. "Rivers flirts with everything that moves."  
He chuckled and shrugged. "Can't deny that. But you're special to him. I've seen the way he looks at you."  
"He is a charmer," she admitted softly, leaning her head on her adopted cousin. He slipped an arm around her and pulled her in closer as a tear fell from her eyes.  
"God, String. What if he doesn't make it this time."  
"He's going to make it." String said firmly. "Look, he has a better chance here than he does in a hospital, and you know it."  
"I know, but..."  
Her words were cut off as they heard the door burst open upstairs. They both looked up as the tiny redhead rushed to the railing, barely stopping herself from going over it.  
"Doc!" she called.  
String was already moving for the door, Jo already running upstairs.  
"He just stepped out to get some air. I'll get him." String yelled over his shoulder as he yanked the door open.  
He stepped out onto the porch just in time to see a chopper he didn't recognize swoop in over the mountain. By the time he had his gun drawn, they were landing on his deck.  
"Both of you get in there with Rivers," he shouted back into the house. "And Cait, make sure you're both armed!"  
It was an unnecessary command for two reasons. Cait knew her husband's every muscle flinch and knew by his subtle change in stance that the chopper they all heard was not welcome, and both women already had guns ready. Secondly, the chopper only touched down long enough for the good doctor to run up to the machine and hop in. String didn't bother getting his rifle ready. He did take notice of the bird's identification numbers, though, and would have Archangel track it down.  
He turned and walked back into the cabin, and looked up at the women standing at the railing as he slowly shook his head.  
"Looks like we've just lost our doctor," String said, whipping out his cell phone and punching in a series of numbers.  
He didn't like this, didn't like it one bit. If that doctor was a mole, then God only knows what had been pumped into that boy upstairs in the past two days. Why, if he was in on it, did he bother stabilizing him?  
He knew the answer even as he asked the question. The man was a friend of Archangel. He had to at least appear to be helping while he was trying to finish what the others had started.  
"Archangel."  
"Michael. Your doctor just flew the coop."  
"What?"  
"You heard me. He's gone." He rattled off the helicopter's identification numbers. "Track that down. And while you're at it, figure out how in the hell we're going to save Rivers' life now."  
He heard Archangel let out a series of curses just before he hit the 'end' button and ran up the stairs. He walked into the room to find both his cousin and his wife frantically tending to a convulsing Mike.  
"What the hell...?  
"Fever." Caitlin explained, breathing a sigh of relief as the seizure stopped. "It's already 105.2, up from 104.7 ten minutes ago. We've got to do something."  
String let out his own series of curses as he pulled out his phone again and started dialing numbers. Meanwhile his wife hurried past him out the door, and Jo started applying damp cloths to his face and neck again. He re-iterated the urgency to Michael, hanging up the phone just as Caitlin ran back with a large bowl filled with water, and towels. One whiff told him it wasn't just water in the bowl.  
"I'm sorry, darlin'," she was saying as she rung a towel out and laid it across his chest. He appeared to still be unconscious, but he did wrinkle his nose and try to turn away. "I know it's not comfortable, and you're going to smell like a dinner salad for a while, but this will help. Just hang in there for us."  
"Apple Cider Vinegar," he answered for Caitlin when he noticed Jo giving her a strange look.  
"My granny used to do this for fevers all the time. Mix a little vinegar with water, then we just wipe him down with it from time to time. Can't leave it on him too long or it might burn him, but..."  
Jo shrugged. "Well, it's not like we have much choice right now."  
"We'll get more help." String assured her. Then a thought hit him. "We need to get that IV out of him. No telling what's in that bag."  
Jo was closest, so she picked up Mike's arm and pulled the IV out, immediately applying pressure with a clean dry towel that Caitlin tossed her.  
"Easy, Mike," she said as he made an attempt to pull his arm away from her. "You're all right. I'm here, just let us help you."  
He didn't respond, didn't even open his eyes, but he did stop trying to fight her She kept pressure on the entry site while watching Caitlin dab at his face with a damp washcloth. He mumbled something incoherent and turned his face away from Cait as the aroma of the vinegar reached his nose.

"I know, darlin', I know," Cait responded softly, her Southern drawl seeming to soothe even Jo's frazzled nerves. "Just a little more and I'll give you a break from it." She had been alternating between the bowl with the weak vinegar solution and another bowl which contained just water, Jo realized.   
She hoped this was going to work. He'd already fallen into convulsions once from the fever...at least she hoped it was the fever, and not some latent effect of his head injury making an appearance. She really wanted to take his temperature again, but figured that would serve no purpose as of yet.  
"With the IV out, we really need to try to get him to wake up enough to get some fluids in him," Jo said worriedly.  
"He'll come out of it," Cait assured her. "He's probably a little woozy from the seizure yet, and a fever this high..."  
"I know," Jo interrupted, then immediately felt bad. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just..."  
"No need to apologize." Cait smiled at her and reached across the bed to give her hand a squeeze. "Trust me. I understand."   
Jo released her hold on Mike's arm and checked it to make sure it wasn't going to bleed profusely. Seeing that she hadn't further harmed him when she removed the IV, she began to allow herself to relax. Too late, she realized that was the wrong thing to do. As soon as her mind made the decision that it was OK to let her guard down a little, she felt darkness closing in around her. She didn't want to sleep, and she tried to force herself back awake, but her mind had already made the decision for lights out. The last thing she remembered was String lifting her up from where she'd slumped on the bed. She tried to protest, but her head fell against his chest and then there was nothing.


	10. Research and Destroy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and St. John go check out the video, then go looking for the good doctor.

"You're sure she's OK? Fine, we'll check in soon."  
Jason ended the call and stuck his phone back in his flight suit pocket, then immediately started typing some information into the computer.  
"What's going on?" St. John asked as he walked up behind Jason on the ramp. They had arrived at the lair about an hour previous, after having spent most of the morning in Company headquarters looking over the security tapes from the Martin murders. They were just getting the Lady ready to take a flight when Jason's cell started ringing. He ignored it the first time, giving what they were researching precedence, but when it went to voicemail and immediately rang again, Jason answered it.  
"That was Michael...Archangel," Jason specified. Having a Mike and two Michaels running around was going to get confusing.  
"And...?" St. John prompted after Jason got distracted punching some numbers into the computer.  
"We've lost our doctor."  
"Lost our doctor? But Mike..."  
"Mike's OK for the time being. Marella is headed back up there. She's no substitute for a doctor, but right now, she's all we've got until we find out what the hell is going on."  
He relayed the story Michael had told him about the chopper landing at the cabin. He also told him about the spiked fever and Jo removing the IV, although he left out the part about the convulsions. The icing on this rotten cake was Jo.  
"She's OK," he assured St. John. "String carried her to one of the bedrooms, and Cait's checked on her a couple of times. She just seems to be really exhausted, that's all."  
"That's enough," St. John groused. "So what's next?"  
"Archangel has the numbers of the chopper that landed and took the doctor away. He's doing a search to see who owns it. If we can find it, we might find the doctor."  
"And we find Doctor Carter, we might find the people behind this entire ordeal."  
"My thoughts exactly."  
"So why aren't we in the air already?"  
"Give me a second. I'm activating the tracer on Carter's watch."  
"He's not an idiot. He's probably ditched it already."  
Jason shrugged.  
"Perhaps. But finding out where he's been is a step to finding out where he is."  
He finished punching some more numbers into the computer, then turned to St. John.  
"She ready?"  
"Ready as ever."  
Jason nodded, and without another word, the two of them walked down to the Wolf and boarded her. 

St. John felt better immediately as he started up the Wolf and began to rise up out of the old volcano. He knew that they may not be able to find anything, but at least he was doing SOMETHING. Something other than sit hiding in the cabin watching his best friend cling to life by a thread.  
Jason assured him that Mike was OK. For now he'd just have to trust that, although he wasn't crazy about the idea of trusting Archangel. He knew that his brother had worked with the man for a long time, and he had begun to warm up to the man until this had happened. Two scientists were dead, a small boy was in danger, and Mike had been beaten to within an inch of his life in his own home...all because there was a leak somewhere. Then, against his better judgement, he had taken Mike to the cabin rather than to a hospital because the leak made a hospital too dangerous, or so they had been told. They were sent a doctor that Archangel trusted, and that doctor had disappeared conveniently just as Mike seemed to be getting worse.  
"Are you listening to me?"  
"I'm sorry, Jason. What did you say?"  
"I said he'll be fine. Marella is good."  
"Mmm..." was all he said in response.  
"This isn't Archangel's fault, St. John."  
St. John hit the thrusters a little harder than he intended to as Jason said that, and Airwolf burst forward as they cleared the top of the volcano.  
"Damn it, St. John!" Jason complained as he regained his equilibrium. "What the hell was that for?"  
"Sorry, Jase. Won't happen again." He couldn't help but smirk a little to himself, though.  
"It better not. Now, can we discuss this without you killing us in the process? Or do I need to ground you?"  
"I'm fine, Jason. I just don't like my gut feeling with this."  
"And what is your gut telling you?"  
"It may not be Archangel's fault. But I have to wonder why Dr. Carter stabilized Mike if he intended to kill him?"  
"We don't know that's what his intent was, St. John."  
"Sure. His disappearing just as Mike suddenly gets worse is a coincidence."  
"Maybe. I don't know. Maybe he's under duress. He's worked with Archangel for a long time."  
"Or he's working for someone else. Wouldn't be the first time someone turned."  
"Let's just find him first. Hey...I think we just did. The computer is picking up his tracer."  
They had flown out over the desert purposefully heading away from the city, figuring that the good doctor wouldn't try to go back into the city. It was a gamble, but it looked like the gamble had been worth it. Jason gave him new headings and he turned the Lady towards the signal.   
"What could he be heading towards out here?" St. John asked. There was nothing out here but rock and cacti, and the occasional snake.  
"I don't think he's heading anywhere. It appears to be stationary. There...that building."  
St. John looked down, and sure enough, there was an old house just off an old dirt road. Well, 'house' was being generous. It was a little more than a shack, but not by much. He wondered what the chances were that they'd been spotted. They'd been in whisper mode, but 'whisper' didn't mean invisible, especially not in broad daylight.  
"Scanners picking up anything?"  
"Just one life form. It's got to be Carter...that's where the tracer signal is coming from." Jason responded.  
"I don't like the idea of just landing."  
"Neither do I. "  
St. John veered left and started turning the Lady around...he'd noticed a good spot to land out of sight as they were flying in. They'd land there, then...  
"What the hell...?"  
A sudden explosion shook the chopper. Fortunately to an airship the size of Airwolf, with a pilot of St. John's skills, it amounted to little more than mild turbulence, at least, once St. John recovered from the shock.  
"Anything hit, Jason?" he asked as he leveled the Lady out. Looking down, there was nothing left of the house but a mass of black smoke and flames.  
"No. We steered clear of everything."  
St. John sighed. "Well, so much for questioning Carter."  
"I don't know. I'm still reading life signs."  
"What?"  
"He must have been trying to get out of the building. Take her down."  
Without another word, St. John landed a safe distance away from the remains of the burning building. The smoke was a double-edged sword. It would give them some cover, but it would make it difficult to see anyone else around as well.  
St. John secured the chopper and the two of them exited, slowly making their way towards the building, or rather, what was left of it. The smoke was burning St. John's eyes, and it wasn't going to take a scent dog do figure out that an accelerant was used.  
They got as close as they could get to the flames, but saw nothing. Silently St. John signaled to Jason that they should circle the site in opposite directions, spiraling out. It wasn't long before they found the object of their search, crawling away from what must have been the back entrance to the building.   
St. John reached him first, grabbing one of his shoulders and pulling him around. Seeing Dr. Carter only enraged him, and he grabbed the man by his collar.  
"What did you do to Mike?!" he demanded over the wounded man's howl at being moved so suddenly.  
"St. John! Easy!" Jason rested a hand on St. John's arm. "We'll get answers. But right now you need to calm down."  
St. John looked from Jason to Dr. Carter, then released his grip on the collar. Dr. Carter's head hit the ground with an audible 'thud'. He didn't often lose his grip on his temper, but he'd been pushed to the limit the last couple of days. Unable to trust himself, he stood and started pacing.  
"Dr. Carter," Jason began more gently, "tell us what happened."  
"Is...is the young man...."  
"Mike is going to be fine. Tell us what happened. Why did you do it?"  
"The boy...the boy's parents were doing...dangerous research."  
"Dr. Carter, you've been in this business long enough to know how things work. They were doing research to counteract what intelligence told us others have already developed."  
"I know...know that now. I was misled about their research."  
"Misled by who?"  
"I told them he was dead. Your young man. They won't...won't come after him...again."  
Jason looked up at St. John, who shrugged and kept pacing.  
"Who? Dr. Carter..."  
"He was poisoned, but there is an antidote."  
"We know Mike was poisoned. Dr. Carter, tell us who."  
"Tell...tell Archangel I'm sorry."  
"We'll get you to a hospital and you can tell him yourself."  
"No...no need. I'm done."  
"The hell you are." Jason said angrily, even as he watched Dr. Carter breathe his last breath.  
He looked up at St. John. "He's gone."  
"Suicide, or betrayed by someone?"  
Jason shrugged as he stood up. "I don't know. If it was suicide, why was he crawling away from the building? Anyway, I need to call in a cleaning crew. We should be far enough out that no one saw anything, but who knows."  
"So we found Dr. Carter, but we're still no closer to figuring out what in hell is going on.  
"We'll figure it out, St. John. Look, as soon as we know a crew is on the way, we'll put The Lady to bed, and go check out Dr. Carter's offices."  
St. John shrugged again, his mind still on Mike.  
"He's going to be all right, St. John." Jason said, seeming to read his thoughts.  
St. John nodded. "I know. Come on, let's get this ball rolling."


	11. Biological What?

Jo woke up just as night was starting to fall. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting a moment waiting to regain her equilibrium. She vaguely remembered fighting sleep, then String picking her up and carrying her from...  
"Mike!"  
She stood and ran from the room, running head-on into String.   
"Whoa, there, girl," he said as he put a hand out to steady her. "Where's the fire?"  
"Mike. Is he..."  
"He's holding his own. Marella brought some supplies and is taking care of him."  
Jo stiffened when he said that.  
"Marella. One of Archangel's..."  
"Yes. She'll take good care of him."  
"String..."  
"Now don't start sounding like my brother. I trust her. Do you trust me?"  
Jo sighed and looked deflated. "Of course I do. It's just..."  
"This whole leak business has us all on edge. I know."  
She took a deep breath and hugged her cousin as he wrapped his arms around her. He held her for a minute, then released her.  
"I was just coming to get you. Caitlin's cooked dinner."  
Jo smiled, putting her arm around his waist as they headed for the stairs. "This whole domesticated/settling down thing suits you, you know?"  
String snorted. "Yeah, that'll be the day."  
"No, it does. Uncle Dom would be proud."  
"Or maybe just relieved to have someone else besides him to be a mother hen over me."  
"Speaking of mother hen, I have to be one and go check on Mike. I'll meet you downstairs. I promise."  
After String threatened to come after her if she wasn't down in five minutes, she left him and made her way to the room that had become the hospital room. She felt her heart jump into her chest as she approached. Mike hadn't looked good the last time she saw him. What was she going to find? She hesitated at the door, took a deep breath and opened the door.  
The dark-haired beauty she assumed was Marella looked around from where she was reading one of the monitors they had brought up. She smiled at Jo readily.  
"Hi. You must be Jo."  
Jo nodded and came forward to shake her hand. "I guess we didn't really get introduced when you were here last."  
"Well, things were a little hectic."  
She looked down at the bed where Mike was sleeping. "How is he?"  
"Better." Marella said. She sat down on the bed and stroked his hair gently, causing Jo to have to swallow a surge of jealousy. "He's very strong. Not many could have come through what he was put through."  
"Yeah," Jo admitted, sitting down on the other side of the bed. "Too bad we don't know why."  
"I know it's hard for you to trust us," Marella said. "But believe me, Michael had no idea Dr. Carter would do this. He's known the man for years."  
Jo picked up Mike's hand in hers, careful not to disturb the IV that Marella had obviously re-inserted when she arrived. "Right now, all that matters is that he pulls through."  
"He will." Marella assured her. "I took blood samples and sent them back to our lab. I also gave him a blood transfusion...hopefully introducing healthy blood into his system will help him fight this off. I also brought antibiotics and pain medicine."  
"Wow, you really know your stuff."  
"Let's hope." Marella said, smiling sadly. "I've also sent Dr. Carter's kit back to the lab, as well as the banana bag from the IV he started. If something funny was in it, we'll figure it out."  
"I don't think it's a question of if," Jo said dryly. "He did something to him, introduced some kind of biological...."  
Jo stopped mid sentence, and she and Marella stared at one another as the same thought hit both of them.  
"I'll call Michael" Marella said.  
Jo nodded. "I'll go see if String has heard from the others."


End file.
